


Sunshine

by Nitzer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, commentary on idol culture, i know it says jeonghan/everyone but it's not in a cute way, measuring time via the length of jeonghan's hair, no happy ending, nothing about this is cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: "And Jeonghan was generous (or cruel depending on the day, depending on how much I loved the sun) and he shared his light and love and kindness with all of his boys. He really loved us all very much (or we all hoped, we all told ourselves and each other that with weak proof)."





	Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> unrated bc there's nothing explicit in here but it still makes me feel kinda gross in parts so like proceed with caution?

It was natural to want to bask in the sun. It was intoxicating to have all the warmth and brightness of the sun on you (just you), so good it was almost too much. But there was always that delicacy to everything Jeonghan did, a softness that left his warmth and brightness heavenly and not burning.

So you could catch any member of the group looking at Jeonghan longingly, thinking about the sun, at any broadcast or interview or vlog or dance practice. You could catch any member longing after Jeonghan off-camera too, wandering through the dorms, waiting in dressing rooms backstage. You could convince yourself that any member was in love with Jeonghan.

And Jeonghan was generous (or cruel depending on the day, depending on how much I loved the sun) and he shared his light and love and kindness with all of his boys. He really loved us all very much (or we all hoped, we all told ourselves and each other that with weak proof). He was only partial to whoever was currently playing with his hair and his baby, Chan.

He spent nights with all of us, in more or less equal amounts, and few alone. What he did during those nights we all held tightly to ourselves and never shared. It was an unspoken agreement between all of us because those nights were something precious and private (and it helped get a hold on the bubbling jealousy we all simmered on).

It was the affection Jeonghan dished out during the day, things that always boarded on genuine, on romantic, that we all had to share. I watched—we all watched—whenever Jeonghan decided to single out a member.

On the way home from a performance, sweaty and exhausted, he rests his head on Soonyoung’s shoulder. Jeonghan melded his body right into Soongyoung’s side and without opening his eyes, tenderly (so tenderly it made me feel like I was intruding) dragged the back of his hand down Soonyoung’s cheek, down his jaw, down his neck before letting his hand drop. “My beautiful, little star looks so good on stage.” Soonyoung—all bright smiles and infectious energy, too excited from the show—lets his head lean on top of Jeonghan’s and lets his eyes slip shut. And, for once, Soonyoung wasn’t a mirror for Jeonghan’s sunshine, shining it all back on us. For once, he just absorbed it.

And Soonyoung deserved every bit of praise and attention and affection he ever got and I certainly couldn’t give him what Jeonghan did (that peaceful and content look on his face). I couldn’t give any of them what Jeonghan did and they _all_ deserved it.  So I just swallowed down the bits of jealousy when they cropped up because they were useless.

I watched Jisoo’s face reflect Jeonghan’s angelic features, watch the mischievous little cherub in our angel come out with our “gentleman” more than anyone else. Jisoo never seemed to mind, though, never seemed anything other than endeared with the whine in Jeonghan’s voice, at him tugging on Jisoo’s hair and ears for attention. And I focus on the warmth I feel because both of them are loved (hopefully… _hopefully_ ) and shove away anything cold and bitter.

Jeonghan’s hair is still long and he is in my bed before I even am. It is a pleasant and painful surprise. I take it, though, I always take it. “That’s not your bed.” I try, some feeble attempt to protect myself, to stop this before it starts. It’s already started, though, and it’s had years to gain momentum.

“I am aware.” Jeonghan pushes his hair back and gives me a cheshire smile. “I meant to be here.” He was always slinky and sexy and teasing with me, forgoing a lot of the soft, sweetness he showed the younger members. I guess he figured I could handle it better. I tried to prove I could. It was probably stupid to play into it.

“Why my bed?” It is a stupid question I shouldn’t have asked. “Why”s should never be asked to Jeonghan. I slide into my bed and Jeonghan melds his body to mine, and tucks his head into my neck. It seems like it is a perfect fit but I know Jeonghan is liquid and melds to everyone as flawlessly as this. I run my hands through his hair, all my walls down, my desire to protect myself gone.

 Jeonghan is relaxed and pliant against me, hand resting on my chest. It’s almost ideal, I let myself believe it is ideal anyway. “I hate empty beds.” He murmurs into my neck. It’s something I don’t realize is important until it’s morning and my bed is empty. It’s something that plays in my head over and over again anyway. It feels like a genuine piece of Jeonghan, a tiny piece to a puzzle I will never finish.

I stumble into my shared room late one night and find Jeonghan in Jihoon’s bed. He has Jihoon curled into his chest peacefully and something about the scene reminds me of a kid and their favorite stuffed animal. I ignore the sharp pain in my chest—the jealousy of him choosing Jihoon over me and of the sweetness Jihoon gets that I don’t. Jealousy never solved anything. I am already on shaky ground with Jihoon, seems like I always am. The kid is brittle and prickly and I can’t think of anything better for him than Jeonghan’s warmth. So I try my hardest to let my exhaustion carry me to sleep and not think about the bunk above me.

There is only one certainty with Jeonghan. One thing to consistently look forward to each year. He gives the same present every year, to every member on their birthdays. Sometimes accompanied with some little trinket if he found the right thing in time. But none of us looked forward to what came wrapped up with neat little bows (even though the gifts were good and thoughtful and beautifully wrapped).

Jeonghan, in the early days, somewhere during the trainee days, after midnight in the dance practice room, leaned up into Wonwoo’s face and whispers—low and sweet—“happy birthday” before kissing him. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t playful, it was intimate and it lasted longer than I could look. The stab of jealousy was the worst one I’d ever felt. It looked like it meant something and I was horrified, for a while, that I’d lost my sunshine.

I don’t remember if Jeonghan spent that night in Wonwoo’s bed, he might’ve spent the night alone. I couldn’t imagine letting him in my bed that night, I don’t know if anyone else would either. We were all shocked and unsure.

And then Wonwoo’s birthday passed and things seemed to go back to normal. We all tentatively started acting like it was normal again. Jeonghan no longer seemed to favor Wonwoo, no more than the rest of us at least, and we let things settle again. Suspicious, still (or maybe that was just me, I always hoped it wasn’t just me), we let Jeonghan back in. And then a month later, it was my birthday.

I found Jeonghan with coffee in the kitchen, alone, when I wandered in. He grabbed my hand and tugged me down for a kiss that tasted bitter but felt like his smile. “Happy birthday, Sungcheol.” He whispers, mouth barely off mine, smile still playing on it. He offers me a mug of coffee, something dusting the top, looking fancy.

“Already spoiling me?” I joke. I want to accept the special treatment but I can already feel the expiration date on it.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Just enjoy it, you old man.”

It’s hard to just enjoy the moment when you’re looking out for thirteen different futures but I didn’t argue. I take a sip of the coffee and it tastes vaguely like cinnamon and hardly bitter at all. And Jeonghan complains about the kids and mimics a few bars I got in the last song. His smile is sunny and his eyes are twinkling and it’s all the softness I feel I am always denied and it is _all_ mine. The kids wander in one by one and Jeonghan lets them make their own coffee if they want any and the ones that remember what day it is wish me a happy birthday.

Jeonghan seems to regretfully part with me to finish his morning routine but when we were all crowded by the door, doing a head count to get in the van, he was squashed right against me. When we were sure everyone was there, Jeonghan pulled me down for another kiss, long and sweet enough for me to cup his face, fingertips getting caught in the hair on the back of his head. “Happy birthday.” He whispered to me and it doesn’t have the same lightness as the first time he told me. It doesn’t feel light at all, actually, it feels heavy and dense and more intimate than I am prepared to deal with.

Seokmin is whooping in the background because if he misses a chance to make a joke he might actually die. Jihoon looks hard and exhausted at the display, pointedly reminding all of us that the van is ready. And Jeonghan stays next to me the entire ride and leans his head against my shoulder whenever we have breaks in practice and always flashes me his brightest smile whenever he catches my eye. When we get back to the dorms he waits to shower with me and purrs when I run my hands through his hair.

He gets in my bed while I am watching for once. It feels like a challenge, Jeonghan proving that I won’t stop him. And I won’t. He melds himself to me like he does everyone but he’s still giggly and happy, nosing into my neck and doing everything playfully. He settles down eventually and I wait until he’s nearly still against me—almost hoping he’s asleep already—to ask. “It isn’t going to be like this tomorrow is it?”

I feel his sigh more than I hear it. “You don’t have to always be looking ahead, Cheollie.”

It’s the nickname that placates me even though what he says is blatantly incorrect. I’m the leader. I’m _their_ leader. And I don’t trust anyone else to look out for them, to make sure that the industry doesn’t eat them whole. I have nothing to add because I know this won’t last much longer and Jeonghan does not elaborate (never does). The breathing on my neck stops being ticklish and annoying and instead sets up a rhythm for my heart to follow and when the sun breaks through the curtains my bed is empty again (he probably left right at midnight, knowing the whole thing was over).

Minghao’s birthday comes next and with most of us gathered in the common room, enjoying rare freedom, Jeonghan kisses him and whispers a happy birthday. We all finally accept it as a tradition, something to look forward to. And it does become tradition. He kisses every one of us on our birthdays. He follows a specific set of rules too (making it fair, I guess). It was always a kiss, on the lips, in front of as many members as he could gather. It was intimate and public at the same time, something to prove to yourself and everyone else that Jeonghan really did love you (we used it as proof anyway).

It was one of our regular appearances on Show Champion, not an official comeback, just an appearance. We were all exhausted and running on fumes (an early start into an early off for once) but smiling and laughing. It was tiring but we genuinely always had fun here. Jeonghan uses his last burst of energy to make a running jump for Junhui’s back. Junhui catches him easily because he is much stronger than he looks (he can lift me for fuck’s sake). Once he’s settled comfortably on Jun’s back, Jeonghan nuzzles into his shoulder. “My Junnie is too pretty to be this strong too.” Jun doesn’t say anything to prove himself, he knows his strength is an open secret amongst the team. He just lovingly rubs circles into Jeonghan’s thigh where he’s holding him.

“I’m a _dancer_ , hyung.” He reminds but Jeonghan has already moved on to just clinging uselessly, nuzzled into Jun’s shoulder.

It’s the beginning of birthday season in the dorms and it’s still cold enough out for Jeonghan to sleep in a big sweatshirt (but no pants, never any pants). It’s Chan’s birthday and Jeonghan, who can not cook, bought and decorated a cake for him instead. Like four of us already complained to Jeonghan that it was way too early for cake but he had it all set up for his baby anyway. Chan stumbled in at some point and Jeonghan had us all sing happy birthday to him. And even though it was way too early for cake, Chan was still the baby and sometimes he acted like it and there was no better time to have cake for breakfast than your birthday.

“Happy birthday my lovely little baby!” Jeonghan cried after we finished singing and placed tons of quick kisses all over his face, backing off with a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Thanks, mom.” Chan jokes and rolled his eyes. It didn’t lessen Jeonghan’s affection for his baby, though, nothing ever did.

It was later in the day, Minghao and Hansol and some of the others had taken Chan out for birthday lunch, making the “adults” stay back so they could have fun. Jeonghan was laying across my lap playing a game on his phone, not bothered that his baby left without him. “Cheollie,” he whined. It was genuinely a good day for me and my sunshine, Jeonghan was all playful and teasing and bright—his eyes never dimming, never saying anything cryptic and cutting.

“Yeah?” I was playing a game on my phone too, feeling good with Jeonghan in my lap, not worrying about him wandering off or choosing someone else for once. Content for once.

He grabbed at my arm to pull himself upright and settled himself properly in my lap, straddling my thighs. “Cheollie,” he murmured again but it was quiet and low and his demeanor had shifted again. He places both hands on the sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss that is deep and demanding. It’s risky in a way, we’re still in the common room, but the dorm is more than half-empty and I’ve never refused Jeonghan. Never. Even when he dares me to, even when the warning lights go off in my head. He drops his full weight in my lap and even that is sexy and purposeful. “Put your hands in my hair.” He demands and it’s all very familiar. Jeonghan is demanding, Jeonghan is in charge, Jeonghan is royalty and you don’t deny him.

And from there it is routine—learned from nights in uncomfortable beds too small for us, in unfamiliar hotel beds, in shared showers. It’s still daylight this time, though, and Jeonghan has nowhere to run off to when we are done. He takes that turn remarkably well, surprisingly, lying pliant and pleased against my chest, cutely blowing a strand of hair out of his face. I can’t even try to hide the adoration in my eyes, my heart is infected and overtaken and conquered and it is all Jeonghan’s.

He kisses me again and the heat has dissipated, it is unhurried and soft. Our lips are still touching but we aren’t even kissing anymore. He’s just breathing against my mouth and somehow it is more intimate. My brain makes a connection through the fog of Jeonghan and I’m shocked that it is doing anything with Jeonghan lying here like this. “You didn’t kiss Chan today.”

Jeonghan snorted and even that was cute. “I kissed him like 50 times. I kissed him enough times that he called me ‘mom’.” He laughed.

“But you didn’t kiss him on the lips.” I clarified.

Jeonghan waved it off. “I’ve _never_ kissed Chan like that. He’s my baby.”

“Hansol isn’t that much older and I’ve seen you kiss him.” I challenge.

Jeonghan takes challenges better than anyone I’ve ever seen. He’s quick and elusive. “Only on his birthday.” Jeonghan is still tucked against me and hasn’t made any move to untangle us. I can’t believe that he hasn’t tried to physically run from this situation yet. “And _he’s_ not my baby, Chan is.”

If you asked me who Jeonghan loves the most, out of all of us, I’d probably settle on Chan. Jeonghan had cake ready early in the morning for Chan’s birthday. Jeonghan always has compliments and observations and adorations ready on the tip of his tongue for Chan. Jeonghan made more room for Chan in his life than any of the rest of us, gave Chan more leeway, showed him the most affection. But he never kissed Chan. It was another little puzzle piece of Jeonghan, things he tossed my way every so often to keep me on my toes. It meant something but with all the vast, empty, blank spaces I had in my definition of Jeonghan it didn’t mean enough.

It’s after a fanmeet, we’re all weighed down by bags full of presents and our fingers are ink-stained. A fan had asked, at some point, for Jeonghan and Hansol to recreate the _Titanic_ moment they’d done so many times before. She asked Jeonghan even though it technically started out as Hansol’s moment, after all the endless comparisons between him and Leonardo DiCaprio, but like many things Jeonghan dipped his hands into it’d eventually become his. Hansol was at the other end of the table giggling between a fan and Seungkwan and not paying any attention. Jeonghan doesn’t let that stop him, though, because Mingyu is right next to him and he’s the literal visual of the group and he can play the male lead of any romance Jeonghan comes up with.

The _Titanic_ scene was a success was a huge success with the carats (always was, the fans loved Jeonghan almost as much as we did). I bet pictures of Mingyu pressed up behind Jeonghan (our official visual and the one that never got left off our list of visuals) were up on the fan café before the fanmeet was even over. And Vernon neglecting to pay attention for once, a fun request from a fan was all it took for Jeonghan to remember how much he liked being next to Mingyu—how good he looked against our visual. And he was all over Mingyu the entire fanmeet, doing hearts with him and blowing kisses and answering all the fan’s questions about him with something sly and suggestive.

I couldn’t blame him. Jeonghan looked good up against Mingyu—really good, both beautiful and modelesque in completely different ways. It was something both of them deserved. It was something all of us deserved. The carats deserved beautiful photos of beautiful people looking at each other lovingly to set as their lockscreens or wallpapers or whatever. And Jeonghan deserved someone equally (or almost equally) as beautiful to complete his image instead of someone who never made it into the top 3 visuals unless it was a joke. And Mingyu deserved his share of the sun. He was just a kid after all. He needed to be loved and cared for and reminded that he was handsome on top of his endless talent. And Jeonghan gave that to him.

So walking to the vans, weighed down by presents, ink stains on our fingers, I watched Jeonghan cling onto Mingyu’s arm and smile up at him like _he_ was the sun. And I didn’t let the acidic jealousy burn all the way up my throat, I stopped it where I could. Because we all deserved this.

Jeonghan’s hair is short again suddenly—shorter than I have seen it since he first joined as a trainee. It isn’t as short as mine and it’s still the longest in the group but it’s an unexpected change. He still throws his head around like there is more hair to follow him. He still pushes his hair back like it is his most interesting feature even though we have had years to learn there is much more to him. The fans even have at this point. Maybe the loss of familiarity is why he’s back in my bed. It’s probably the most familiar bed he has available to him.

I don’t comment on Jeonghan’s presence in my bed, I don’t try to get him to move either. I haven’t in a long time. There’s no use in trying to protect myself when I’m already so far gone. I still sit on the edge of my own bed tentatively because with Jeonghan in it, it’s hardly mine anymore. He’s curled up in on himself, pushed all the way against the wall on my bed. He looks barely more than a lump of sheets or forgotten stuffed animals under my covers. He looks small and almost pitiful, nothing like all the presence he has on camera, like all the presence he always has.

There are quiet words spilling from him into the space I should’ve been occupying, the space I’m always in before he starts talking. There’s no strength to his voice, the words muffled by the blankets he’s using as some kind of shield. “Do you like my hair?”

I pause for a moment, only to remind myself that it doesn’t matter what I say. He has eleven other opinions to hear, he’ll hear what he wants enough times. I’m not even sure what he wants me to say, this isn’t something he’s guided me through before, something that he’s _trained_ me in. “It’s not much different.” I assure him. “It still looks good.”

His body uncurls a little bit and it feels like an invitation. I guess I said the right thing. I take the invitation. I always take it. This is an invitation and not a challenge, though. Jeonghan is crowding me while I’m only half under the blanket and he refuses to give me any more. I only manage to fully cover myself once he stops gripping the blanket in favor of fisting his hands in my shirt.

I’m here to take care of him I realize. I’m the one he chose for comfort, for stability, for care. It’s only because I’m older, it’s only because I do this for everyone. But I can’t be bitter. I can never be bitter with him in my arms. I especially can’t be bitter feeling how frail, how thin, and small his body is under mine. My heart is clenching at his lack of confidence, his lack of energy, this fragile side of him that is foreign and new.

“It’s just hair, it’s stupid.” He says defensively and I recognize the tone from all the times I lied to myself about Jeonghan. All the times I told myself it was just friendliness, responsibility, lust, infatuation, anything but something heavy and genuine (everything I felt for him was heavy and genuine, though).

“You’ll get used to it.” I reassured him and thread my hands through his hair because it’s always been his favorite. I find my hands trying to stroke through hair that isn’t there still, out of familiarity. I hope Jeonghan doesn’t notice, how used to his long hair I am too, how intertwined his hair is in how we interact. I think that’s what he’s afraid of—how intertwined the long, meticulously-styled, silky hair is in who he is as a member of Seventeen. It’d been long enough with us _and_ with the fans that he was more than his hair, though, he didn’t need to be so insecure.

Jeonghan is breathing evenly against me, pliant and limp. He looks like an angel like this—really, truly—and I can’t see the sunshine in him, his bright energy and smiles gone while he loosely grips my shirt. His face is serene and beautiful in a way I rarely see, the newly-dark hair framing his face in the moonlight. And I remember all the things that led up to this—the burnt red-brown hair that fans first fell in love with, the brown it eventually faded to, the blond that made me want to call him “princess,” even the turquoise streak they hid in dark hair. But here it is again. Back to that deep black hair, barely past his ears, only considered “pretty” or “feminine” for the way it was styled. Back to how he looked when I saw him for the first time.

So many things were different now even with him looking the same—the way _we_ looked, the way we looked at each other, how we acted on camera, how we interacted with the fans, the bed he chose to share with me. But so many things were barely changed—his hair, him laying so soundly and calmly next to me while I knew barely anything about him (nothing I wanted to know at least).

I brushed his fringe from his face, trailing a soft finger from his eyelids, down his cheekbones, thumbing gently over his lip before settling for cupping his face. It had been years and my definition of Jeonghan was still so blank and empty. He sought me out for comfort but I knew _nothing_.

He is still and has been for a while and his breathing is calm and even, his eyes closed gently. I think he’s asleep. I _hope_ he’s asleep. But still I whisper to him—looking at his empty bunk, looking at his angelic face, his body loosely curled into mine—hoping to find something out about him for once. “Who do you love, Jeonghan?” It is gentle, quiet, curious.

I hold my breath for several stupid, stupid moments. Jeonghan does not even twitch. Silence is my only answer.

I finally let myself breathe again—giving up on whatever it was I hoped for. Jeonghan didn’t love anyone. Jeonghan wouldn’t admit to loving anyone to any of us. Jeonghan would only talk about loving someone if it was his family or if some host was asking Jeonghan about his relationship to us and even then he’d only sweetly, blankly, plastically reply that he loved all of us, really. And that’s what I was stuck with. That’s what I had chosen. Someone that wouldn’t love anyone and even if he did, there was no way his first choice would be me.

My jaw involuntarily clenched at the idea of spending year’s worth of nights like this—here, sharing a bed with someone I barely knew—someone who would not _let_ me know them. It was a miserable existence of jealousy, of being half-loved, barely-loved, picked over, only being good for certain moods, certain things. It was what I got for falling in love with an angel, with the sun, for taking care of eleven others who loved him just as much. It was what I deserved. I don’t know what I expected.

A draft found its way into the room and drew a shiver out of Jeonghan. I held my breath again, stupidly, stupidly thinking I might get an answer out of him. He didn’t stir, though. He just fisted his hands tighter in my shirt, curling up closer to me.

And I don’t know what else I expected.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like you can kinda read an almost happy ending into this if you stretch but if you want a for sure happy ending i wrote "Aligned" in the middle of this to cheer me up and that's pure fluff


End file.
